With Love, Theo

van-goghThe shades that spread on the canvas
As the ear gets slashed
Aren’t your colors Vincent.

Aren’t you making a flagellant of yourself
When you scribble your name
In the corners of the aberrations that were
Borne as the consciousness of the brush turned sour?

May the seven Pharisees mock
The swaying wheat fields and the churches.
May they pass on with their scornful stares
Wearing a plastic smile.
To those who’re taken aback and pull back
What can the Cyprus trees do
Except waving goodbyes?

Stars sparkle in your sky.
Sunflowers bloom in your garden.
It’s your kid that waves at you,
And steps with a smile that brightens the air.
It’s your nature to write like a reflex.

Ain’t it going out of order knowingly, brother
To suppress your nature, fearing disorder?
With love,

This poem has been submitted by Saravana Raja
Saravana Raja lives in Chennai.
Loves to indulge himself in films, fiction, mountains and paintings.
Proud dad. Infinitely Ursus Maritimus.
Contact: [email protected]